The Princess and the Freak
by Tagath
Summary: Once upon a time, there was a little girl to whom life hadn't been kind and death even less so. Once upon a time, there was a boy who didn't believe in ghosts, and yet went across the world to save one. American version of the movie
1. Chapter 00

**The Princess and the Freak**

This is the story of a girl who didn't have much luck in life, and to whom even death could not bring peace. When I look back on those events, I realize she was probably more innocent than I've believed her to be at some moments. She just reacted the way you could expect from a eight years old girl in those very particular conditions, and sometimes, I wished some of my decisions had been... different. But as they say, what's done is done, I can't change it. I can only be true to my word and tell what exactly happened.

This is also the story of a young man. He was French, and I believe he used to live in Paris, but I'm not really sure about that, because I've managed to find very few information about him. According to those who knew him, he was weird guy, not bad, but not really nice either. He was fascinated by ghost stories and often seemed to talk about nothing else. But what most people didn't know is that he actually didn't believe one word of those tales, which is particularly ironical, considering the reason of his trip to the US. But as weird as he was, he still considered himself a logical person, and he was convinced that every problem in life had a logical solution.

What was his name, you ask? Well, honestly, I have no idea. No, really. Oh, I'm sure I must have been told at some point, but it's just as if his name couldn't be remembered. And you know, it doesn't matter. It's said you name defines you, but probably never as much as a nickname. That guy? People called him Pink. And whenever someone asked him _why_, why Pink and not something more nerdy like Spock or Brain or whatever it is people of his kind call each others, he just gave them his most charming smile and said: "well, you see, my friends in high-school just happened to _hate_ that colour."

What else could I tell you? He was twenty, he was an orphan since two years before that whole affair began, and his parents had left him enough money to never make that an issue for him. He was a red-hair, he needed glasses, he... well, I didn't know him that well you know. And the only one who could have told me more is dead. So maybe it's easier if I just start telling you their story, right?

* * *

As I said, Pink liked ghost story, and everything started the day he took an interest in some strange cursed tape he'd heard of on a forum. It was unusual, he thought, and a little bit ridiculous too, so he started looking for a copy. He soon learned that while that tale was quite new for him, it had been considered an old classic for some years already, and he'd probably never find anything now. Too many people had died because of that stuff, they said, and the survivors had been clever enough to destroy their copies and do their best to forget they'd ever watched anything like that.

But if Pink had one quality, it was being obstinate.

He searched and asked, asked and searched, until one day, when he came back from college, he saw someone had sent him an email asking if he still wanted a copy of that tape. When he said yes, that person offered to sent it to him, saying that all charges would be theirs. They just wanted someone, anyone to take that tape, because they'd never dared throwing it away after it had killed their son. Pink was more than happy to help. That guy (colonel_123, must have been a man) would no longer have to worry about that horrible little curse, and _he_'d get to laugh as much as he wanted.

The tape arrived one week later, but he didn't watch it right away. He had better things to do at that moment, like trying to pass his exams, and he would have allowed no distractions. As I told you, he was weird, but not crazy or stupid, and he knew what was really important. Still, as soon as his exams were over, he remembered the tape that had been lying around, and he decided the time to watch had come. He'd do it with style of course, because he kind of felt it deserved it. So one night, he waited until midnight, he turned off all the lights in his flat, and he played the thing.

Most people who watched that tape agree that it is quite disturbing at best, or absolutely frightening at worse. I remember it made me kind of sick, I really thought I'd throw up. I'm sure even those who try to laugh at it didn't find it that funny. My point being it really isn't nice stuff, and really messes up with your head, in a very bad way. But Pink? Well, believe it or not, he thought it was the saddest thing he'd ever seen. By the time the well appeared on the screen, he was on tears. A boy who hadn't shed a tear after his parents' deaths! He felt stupid, but he couldn't help feeling sorry for... well, he didn't even know what. Sure, he knew the story of the tape –I've made sure years ago that the whole tale is on the internet –but even as he was crying like he'd never did before, he still couldn't believe it was all true, not really, not yet.

And then, the phone rang.

On a normal day, he'd never have answered, but he wasn't quite himself at that moment. He picked up the phone. And as soon as he did that, he was convinced that the whole story was true.

Because on the phone, he heard the sad and desperate voice of a little girl, and what that voice said was:

"Save me."

Pink liked to make plans. But he still bought that very night a ticket for a plane that was going to Seattle just a few hours later. Pink was logical. But he still didn't know at all exactly what he would do once in the US, nor how he'd get where he wanted to go.

Pink didn't believe in ghost. Yet he was travelling across the world to save one.

* * *

To be continued. And I am most sorry it is so short, but this is only the prologue. I will definitively aim at something longer for the actual chapters.


	2. Chapter 01

**Chapter 1**

Everyone knows French people can't speak English. They know it too. And they happen to take some pride in it, because they feel just don't have to learn a new language. It's other people who should learn French instead, because it's obviously so much greater than everything else. Luckily for him, Pink was quite different from the average Frenchman, and he _did_ speak English rather fluently. Well, as far as someone French could speak well in another language anyway. But it was one thing to be able to read any book or to understand what was going on in a movie, and it was an entirely different thing to actually communicate with actual people.

They just didn't speak as clearly as in films.

As if that weren't enough, Pink was also starting to experience Doubt. All had been well as long as he was on the plane, mostly because he was terribly excited by all those things that were happening, but as soon as he found himself all alone in Seattle, with nowhere to sleep, no idea of where he should look for… for he didn't really know what, well… he had a sudden attack of Doubt.

What he was doing was crazy. Seriously, absolutely crazy. Maybe he should just forget about that ghost and try to enjoy his stay in Seattle. It would be such a great experience for him, to be sure. Meeting new people and all.

But then, he remembered that voice he'd heard on the phone, and all his doubts disappeared at once. Yes, it _was_ crazy. But if there was any tiny little chance that all this were true, even the smallest one, then he had to do everything that was in his power, or he knew this would haunt him for the rest of his life. And anyway, how hard could it be to bring peace to a ghost? He'd seen it many times on television and in novels, so it would certainly be very easy.

* * *

For the next few hours he wandered in Seattle, trying to figure out a way to get to Shelter Mountain Inn, the place where the ghost was supposed to have died. The first step was finding Shelter Mountain. He never loved cyber-cafés and Google more than he did at that moment. However, he soon realized that that place was farther away than he would have thought, and that he had just missed one of the few buses that went that way. So he waited a long time to get in a bus, that would get him to another bus, that would get him to yet another bus, and that one was going to Shelter Mountain. He hoped. The driver of the first bus was rather grumpy and very much annoyed by all his questions, and he also had that thick accent Pink couldn't quite understand.

And yet, his skill in English must have been better than he thought since he arrived exactly where he wanted to go shortly after 5p.m.

Shelter Mountain Inn was…how to say that… well, it's probably easier to say what it wasn't. For example, it wasn't a nice, hot sunny place where you'd want to spend you holidays. It wasn't very welcoming either. Which might explain why Pink seemed to be the only customer. Still, he decided that the fog and the rain and the I-don't-remember-when-was-last-time-I-slept probably explained this bad impression. Certainly, after a few hours –or days –of sleep, it would look much nicer.

Okay. So maybe not _nicer_. But it certainly wouldn't look so bad. He hoped.

Barely able to think clearly, he went straight to the reception and was welcomed by an old lady who didn't look too happy to see him. She stared at him for a few minutes, not saying a world, and he was about to ask her to forgive anything he could have done to make her so angry, when he remembered why he was there in the first place and asked if he could stay the night.

"If you want. But I warn you, it'll really be just tonight. We're closing in three days. You should have gone to a motel, boy."

"Yeah, but I wanted to… be closer to nature… that kind of thing… And I really just need it tonight anyway. Hey, since I seem to be pretty much the only one here tonight, can I get to choose my cabin? I'd want cabin twelve, if you don't mind. It's my favourite…"

"So that's why," the woman interrupted him. "I knew it. People like you… I know them. You're here for that girl, aren't you? The one they got out of a well, a few years ago! That's sick, that's what it is."

"I swear, I don't know…"

"You're not even from here, are you? Now even _tourists_ think it's something fun! But it's serious, very serious, people died because of that… that thing that happened!"

"Yes, I assure you I understand, but this has nothing to do with me," Pink lied as the old lady started to scare him. "I'm on a holiday, and that place seemed nice, and that's all. If you don't want me around, then I'll go somewhere else. But it is raining, and I'd really prefer to say here, if you don't mind."

She did mind. A lot. But in the end, money was still money, even when it came from the pocket of a ghost worshiper Satanist nerd, which she obviously thought he was. He was sure she made him pay more than the usual price, but he was too tired and too afraid she'd turn him away to start a fight.

"You'd better enjoy it here while you can," the woman said as he was leaving. "They're going to build a huge swimming-pool here very soon. From what I've heard, that damn ghost doesn't water, eh? We'll see how she enjoys _that_!"

* * *

The cabin was nicer than Pink had expected. Creepy, but still nice. He felt like in one of those slash movies teens liked so much, except there wasn't a crazy serial killer in the neighbourhood, as far as he knew.

Realizing that he'd probably never been so tired in his entire life, he threw his bag in a corner of the room and fell on the couch, because the bedroom was just too far away. He closed his eyes for half a second, then opened them again and noticed the television set in front of him. He usually didn't watch it, considering it was losing some precious time that was better spent on the computer, but this time, he decided to turn it on. His excuse was that it would be culturally interesting to watch Americans series to better understand the country and its crazy inhabitants. But part of him knew that deep down, the television was on only because he hoped it would somehow allow him to get closer to the ghost.

He tried to concentrate of the screen, but the pictures, the voices seemed more and more confused, and a few minutes later is was asleep.

* * *

Next thing he knew, he was in the middle of the woods, completely surrounded by trees and fog. That damn old lady. He knew it was her fault. She must have stolen all his money and his clothes, then she brought him there, and now he was lost forever. That was not at all how he had wanted to die. Hunger and thirst and desperation never had much appeal to him. Being eaten by a bear neither.

He was in the middle of a particularly inventive curse against the owner of the Inn, when he noticed a clearing. It looked weird for some reason, so he decided to go and have a look. And what he saw there was an old well. It was then that he realized he was probably dreaming. He knew that well. He had already seen it before. It was the well from the tape.

The first thing he noticed about the well was that it was closed. And for some reason, he felt it was wrong, and that he had to remove that heavy slab as soon as possible, or something dreadful might happen. It was stupid, he knew it, but he also knew that dream's logic often is, and he decided to just do what he had to do.

That stone sure looked heavy, but slid almost as soon as he touched it and he almost fell in the well. And then, nothing happened. It was really anticlimactic. He'd really expected something would happen, maybe a symbolic ray of sun that would shine on the well to show its ghost was now at peace, or even the ghost itself showing and thanking him before leaving for heaven… What kind of dream was this? Feeling disappointed, he leant on the well, wondering when he would wake up. All this was so boring.

He was about to leave the place to see if there wasn't something more interesting somewhere else, when a slippery hand caught his wrist and started pulling him in the well. A child's hand, wet and cold and strong, so incredibly strong, and he couldn't resist so he just closed his eyes and screamed as he was falling toward the dark water that was waiting for him, and then…

* * *

He woke up. He was sweating and his throat was slightly painful, as if he had really screamed. He had also fallen of the couch. He had a headache too. And that was about everything he could notice at the moment.

Looking out the window, he saw a red and purple sky, but he didn't know if it was sunset or sunrise. He had been very tired, he could very well have slept for days, couldn't he? But wouldn't the old lady have woken him up? She didn't like him, she wouldn't have let him stay there longer than what he had paid for. But no matter how long he had slept, he didn't really feel better. That was because of that weird dream. It had felt so real. He almost remembered the wet feeling of the fog, the grass under his feet, the coldness of the air… the fear he remembered too. Something had happened after he'd removed the stone, but he didn't know what. He didn't want to know.

Tea, he thought. No matter the hour of the day, or the weirdness of the dream, tea was the solution. It always was. With some pain, he managed to stand up, thinking only of something hot and nice to drink.

* * *

But just as he made his fist step to the kitchen, he saw the girl.

She was young, maybe eight or nine at most. She had long, dark hair, wore a long, dirty white dress, and she seemed as surprised as he was.

"Who're you, sir?"

Pink didn't answer. He was too shocked for that. He knew her voice. He'd heard it once on the phone. But it was impossible, the voice on the phone had been that of a ghost, and the girl in front of him seemed very much alive.

This smelled like trouble.

"What's you name, little girl?"

"Me? I'm Samara of course. Who else?"

Yup. He was most definitively in trouble.

* * *

_Now, a little bit of information (because I've thought of too much things and can't put them all in the story...v_v)_

If you've seen the "Don't watch this" bonus feature on the "The Ring" dvd, you probably know the guy from Shelter Mountain Inn had watched the tape and died too. So the old lady here is his mother I think (she's the real owner of the place, and her son worked for her). That's also why she's so annoyed at people coming to the Inn just because of Samara.

How does that old lady know about the ghost? After the events of "The Ring2", someone made a website to tell all the truth about the tape, and that person made sure it was easy to find. Most people think it's a joke (including Pink until a recent date) but those who've lost a close one usually believe what it says.

And yes, French people really think it's other people who should learn their language. Even when THEY are going abroad. (I really wish it was a joke, but it isn't...v_v)


	3. Chapter 02

"So, who are _you_?" the girl asked.

Pink was feeling dizzy. Samara. The ghost. Alive. Talking to him.

That was one thing he had certainly never planed. But maybe this was just a dream? People often dreamed they were awake, didn't they? They did on televisions and in cartoons. Yes, that had to be it. It just couldn't be real.

"Hey mister, are you even listening to me?"

"You're a dream. I don't have to answer to a dream."

She didn't like the answer it seemed, and kicked him in the leg. Hard. He winched.

"Putain de…! What was that for?"

"Oh. So it was really real," Samara said, surprised. "I thought it was… I thought it was just in my head. So that's why I don't know you."

"Did you have to kick me to know that?"

"I guess not. Now tell me who you are. Or else… I'll be angry, and you won't like it. I can do worse that kicking!"

Pink certainly didn't like the scary hint of pride in her voice as she said that, but he knew it was true. If she really was Samara, then she could do things he didn't want to think about.

"My name is Pink. I'm the one you called. On the phone. Long distance call by the way, I wouldn't want to pay for that one."

The girl looked surprised, and stared at him angrily.

"I didn't want you to come. I didn't think it would be you. I wanted it to be…"

She looked confused, as if she didn't really know who she had wanted to see. Maybe that journalist, Pink thought, the one who had found her body. Or maybe someone from her family? Didn't she have a biological mother or something like that, in a mental institution? He really should have read her biography more thoroughly instead of just focusing on the tape. Then again, how was he supposed to know he'd met a little girl who had been dead for more than 30 years, and that she would get angry at him because he had dared to come and help her?

That was so weird.

"I really need a cup of tea now," he mumbled. "Or maybe two or three, we'll see. Do you want something, ghost girl?"

"My name is Samara! Am I really a ghost?"

"I don't know. Why don't you try to walk through the walls while I make the breakfast?"

She glared at him, and refused to answer. But since she didn't come with him in the kitchen, he assumed she'd probably follow his advice.

Once he had a nice, hot cup of tea in his hand, he was able to think more clearly about the implications of that unexpected reversal of the situation. The first thing he needed to do was to define how real she was. Was she a ghost, was she a zombie of some sort, or an actual living girl? If she was a ghost, could other people see her? Or hear her? If she was a zombie, did she need to eat and drink and sleep? And if she was alive… Well, he just hoped she wasn't. If she was alive, the situation would be really too complicated.

Ghost only need to finish the business they left when they died. Zombies could manage on their own. Eight years old girl couldn't. If she was alive, he'd have to make sure she was alright, or more probably, he'd have to find people who could take care of her. People who would be trustworthy, and yet wouldn't ask too much what a twenty years old French boy was doing with such a young girl. Because who would believe the truth? _He_ wasn't sure he believed it.

Speaking of which… what about her powers? Did she still have them? He remembered that on the website about the tape and the curse, it was said she could kill with just a thought, and make people go crazy. Was it still true? Could she control it? Would she kill him for no reason? Or with a reason? True, it wouldn't make a big difference, but if she was logical in her punishments, then he could certainly avoid death.

"I want a toast," said Samara when coming in the kitchen. "Is there peanut butter? I want some on a toast."

"Ghosts don't eat."

"Then maybe I'm not one, because I'm hungry. And I can't do the wall thing either."

"Oh. Then you're really not a ghost I guess. Maybe you really are alive. Do you feel alive?"

"I don't know. I don't remember what it's like. But right now, I don't feel like I'm dead. It's different from when I was in the well. Not so cold. Hey, are you going to leave me alone?"

"I don't know," Pink sighed. "Do you want me to? I'll be honest, I'm a little scared right now. I know the things you can do, and I know you don't seem to like me. But if you want me around, I'll stay."

She looked at him silently, as if estimating how valuable his help could be. She didn't seem too impressed.

"You're an idiot," she said. "No one clever would have come here. And you've got the most stupidest name I've ever heard. But that's okay. I'm a little weird too, so I don't think someone with a brain would help me. You can stay with me."

Her voice clearly indicated she was granting him a great favour by allowing him to stay in her presence. And much to his surprise, Pink realized that her decision actually made him happy. He'd never really cared much about being useful to anyone, but the mere idea of helping her felt… right, somehow. Like it was meant to be.

"Okay, we'll need a few rules then," he said, trying to sound tough. "First of all, I think you should use you power, unless it's really absolutely necessary. And you really shouldn't use it to kill people at all. Because, you know, killing is bad. And we'd get in trouble. Rule two: if someone asks you, tell them I'm… your uncle. Yeah, that sounds plausible. I'm now your uncle."

"These are good rules," Samara admitted unwillingly. "I have one too. Just one rule and you better obey it, okay? The rule is, you don't give me orders. You're not my dad, you're not really my uncle, you're not nothing. You can't tell me what I can do."

He'd never really thought of ordering her around, so this seemed a good rule. It was difficult to even imagine being bossy with a girl who could burn your mind anyway. Maybe he was stupid, but not _that_ stupid.

An uncomfortable silence followed as neither of them knew what to say. None of the questions Pink wanted to ask were polite, especially after so short an acquaintance, and he couldn't possibly think of a subject for conversation. He'd never been around kids that much before, let alone dead ones.

He didn't have to worry for long. Just as he was about to ask Samara if she wanted to have some tea with her toast, someone knocked at the door. Or more exactly someone banged the door repeatedly while screaming that he'd better open the door quickly if he didn't want them to call the police or someone.

Pink wasn't surprised when he discovered it was the old lady from the reception. She looked angrier than ever.

"What on Earth have you been doing in there? The light was on all night, and I've seen you walking around and heard you screaming last night! And just a minute ago you were talking to someone, weren't you? Who's in there with you? Now listen young man, that place will close in just a few days, I don't want troubles in here, so you're going to… OH MY GOD, WHAT IS _SHE_ DOING HERE?"

Samara, intrigued by all the screaming, had left the kitchen to see what was going on, and the old woman had seen her. The only thing Pink could think was that the girl was actually real, and that other people could see her too. Then the woman pushed him aside and ran toward Samara, looking very worried.

"Poor little thing, look at your dress! I bet you haven't taken a bath in days! Poor child! What are you doing with that man? Did he kidnap you? Did he do bad things to you?"

"He's nice," Samara answered coldly. "He's helped me. Go away. Don't touch me."

Too busy insulting Pink and swearing she was going to call the police right away, the old lady didn't listen to a single word the girl said. It was a mistake. When she tried to take Samara in her arms to bring her to safety, far away from the awful French pervert, the girl snapped.

Pink felt a sort of hot, painful wave going through his brain, and the horrible sensation almost made him faint. He fell on his knee and closed his eyes, trying to concentrate on anything but the pain, failing miserably… until the feeling stopped as suddenly as it had come. Samara was now just in front of him, and there was worry on her eyes. He tried to smile to reassure her, but he only grinned miserably.

"It was really necessary," Samara said defensively. "She wasn't nice. She'd have called the police. They would have thought I was mad, and I would have been sent to the hospital. I don't want to go back to the hospital. It's horrible there."

Still slightly shocked, Pink looked around and saw the inn's lady lying on the ground.

"Is she dead?"

"No. You said I mustn't kill. But if you changed your mind, I can do it. She's not really nice. She wanted people to build a pool above my well. That's mean."

"Yeah. I don't like her either. But we'll get in trouble if she dies. Well, I guess we really must leave now. I wouldn't want to be here when she wakes up. Unless there is anything you want to do here?"

"No. I don't like it here. I want to leave. Where are we going now?"

"I don't have the slightest idea. But I'm sure we'll have fun."

* * *

I'm taking part in the NaNoWriMo, so next chapter will probably have to wait until the end of the month!;)


	4. Chapter 03

Samara was sitting under a tree, near the road. She was a little bit lonely since Pink had left her. He had said she couldn't come with him, that she had to stay there.

And then, he had gone away.

She didn't exactly resent him. You needed to care about someone for that and frankly, she didn't give a damn about that guy. He was weird. He spoke funny, and had that strange accent that she couldn't always understand. She was glad he had somehow freed her from the well and that she seemed to be mysteriously alive again, but she was also glad he was gone, because she didn't need him.

In fact, she didn't need anyone. She was strong, very strong. Being alone wasn't a problem. It was a very good thing, not to have anyone to love. People you loved always hurt you, she knew that. Life had made sure she knew that.

She still kind of remembered her first mommy. Oh, not much of course. Just scents and colours, stuff like that. Her first mommy had loved her, and Samara had loved her back. But she already had her power then, even before she was born. She could show pictures in people's head, and when she was happy it was nice pictures with pretty colours and nice shapes. But when she was angry, she made horrible pictures, things that frightened everyone, including herself. And every time her first mom tried to bathe her, she'd be angry and scared, because she knew water was bad and dangerous, she knew water would kill her one day. And soon, her mom became afraid of her, afraid of the pictures.

And for the first time, the water tried to kill her.

She didn't remember it very well, she just knew that she had cried a lot, and someone saved her. After that, people took her away from her mom. She wasn't sure why. Her mom had done nothing. It was the water that was to blame. It didn't really matter in the end, and very soon she completely forgot about her first mom and did not think of her at all.

And then, she met her new mommy. She was kind. She was warm. She was caring and tender and everything a mom ought to be. And she didn't mind the pictures. It was probably the most important thing, she didn't mind Samara's power. She still loved her. Sure, she was sometimes worried, and she once asked a few question to their doctor, but in the end she didn't mind, Samara knew it.

On the other hand, daddy _did_ mind. He hated her. She knew it. Felt it. He wanted her to go, and she was afraid he'd hurt her somehow. And he did. One day, mommy foolishly mentioned to him the way she was seeing and hearing strange things when she was near Samara. Daddy was horrified, he said Samara couldn't stay in the house, that she was making mommy go crazy. He didn't say it, but he believed she was a monster. So he sent her to sleep with the horses, and the barn became her prison. She had a TV there, and a bed. And there were the horses.

She'd had nothing against the horses until then. Mommy didn't want to go near them because they could be dangerous, and that was it.

But when she had started sleeping right above them, she had discovered they were a very noisy kind of animals, and that she couldn't sleep well because of them. The lack of sleep made her angry. Anger made the visions that happened to everyone around her... quite awful. The horses went mad. Some killed themselves. Dad got angry. Samara got afraid of him. The hoses got even more mad. Mommy got afraid of Samara. Daddy sent her to a hospital.

It was awful there. She missed mommy. She was scared of the doctors. And she had completely stopped sleeping, because parts of her brain were convinced that daddy would come at night and kill her in her sleep. When at last mommy decided she had been at that hospital long enough, they were both crazy. At least, that was what Samara now thought, considering what happened next.

Dying hadn't been a nice experience. Being killed by the person she loved the most hadn't helped. Surviving in that cold, dark well full of water for seven days had been the cherry on the top.

She wasn't sure how that whole tape thing had happened though. She had been angry, sure, and she'd probably wanted people to suffer just as much as she had suffered. Actually, she'd been pure anger at that time, all other feelings disappearing behind that blind rage that made her want to destroy all of humanity. Not a very good period for her, come to think of it. She wouldn't admit it, but now she sometimes wished she'd just died and gone to hell or heaven or whatever other place there was for people like her.

But, then, she'd meet her third mommy. The one who had taken her body from the well, who had tried so hard to know who she was, how she felt. The one who could have become her real mommy. The one who had sent her back to the well and trapped her there. Samara had loved her so much, hoped so much she would love her back... and once again, mommy had given her to the water.

And now, she was alone. With that weird guy who didn't speak proper English. And he said Samara had called her, which was not true. Well, probably not.

Sure, she had hoped someone would come. She had hoped *Rachel* would come. Not some weird guy with a stupid name. Maybe Rachel hadn't heard her because of him? If that was the case... If he had been the one preventing Rachel to come to her... Well, she would kill him, it was just that easy, really. Yes, maybe she should. If he came back, she would kill him. But he would not come back of course. No one ever came back for her. No one...

-Eyh pretty princess, why so serious?

Samara looked up and much to her surprise she saw Pink walking in her direction, carrying heavy bags with brands names on them. She was so surprised she actually forgot that just a few seconds ago she had decided to kill him if she saw him again.

-I'm not a princess. What's in the bags?

-Pretty clothes for a pretty princess. And shoes too. I hope they'll fit. Well, they'll have to do until you can come with me in a shop.

-You bought me stuff? I thought you had left. And for your information, I didn't care.

-Yeah, I know. I'm a... a pain in the ass, that's how you say it, right?

-That's a bad word. It's forbidden.

-I'm awfully sorry if my rude language hurt you delicate ears. Now do you want to try on one of the dress, or would you rather wear pants? Or do you actually enjoy wearing rags and looking like an extra in a zombie movie?

She glared at him, picked the pants, and wondered why she wasn't killing him already.

Well, he was stupid and weird, sure, but at least he wasn't afraid of her.

That was really something new.


	5. Chapter 04

_The force is with me... and so is Samara...X3 I don't know how long this will last, but it seems I'm writing again. I've lost the paper where my plot was written though, so I don't know what I'm doing anymore...XD_

* * *

Pink had never been good when it came to interacting with people. He didn't really like the rest of the world. It wasn't that he *hated* them, he just... despised them. Felt he was too clever, too logical for them. Pointless conversations bored him. He was far too smart to descend to their level. At least that was what he was telling himself, but like many such condescending people he was just shy and insecure when confronted to people.

And yet to Samara he was a gifted socialiser. The girl didn't know much about humans' relations, she had never really had a chance to learn about it. The only time she had left the Morgans' farm was to go to a horse race, and there had been such a terrible accident that she had never been allowed outside ever again, except to go to that hospital. And it wasn't as if *that* was a great place to learn how to act toward other people. Her parents hadn't been great examples either. By the time she had been old enough to study their behaviour, they had pretty much stopped talking to each other.

That is why, when they got in a bus going to Salem and Pink started *talking* to people, Samara wondered if he wasn't cooler than she had thought until then. And he wasn't just talking; he was lying too, as if it were the most natural thing ever –which it was actually, at least for him.

Pink had introduced them as a French boy who had come to visit his American family and his young niece who'd been very ill recently and whom he was taking on a vacation now that she was better. Samara thought it was stupid, but people believed it. She didn't know why. They didn't look like members of the same family. She thought it so stupid that she felt the need to tell Pink, but he only laughed.

"It's all thanks to you if they believe it," he said. "You may not have realized, but every time they're trying to talk to you, you hide behind me. Kidnapped kids don't do that, so why would they doubt my story?"

"I don't hide."

"Yes, you do. You've never been around people much, have you?"

"I couldn't," Samara said. "Because of the pictures. Daddy said I'd make people see horrible things. He said I was a monster. He said I couldn't be around real people."

"Your dad was an asshole, that's what he was."

Samara smiled almost against her will.

"That's a bad word. You say a lot of bad words."

"Guess I do. That's a French thing. Do you want me to teach you a few?"

This time, Samara offered him a real smile, and she nodded shyly, like a normal kid could have done. She was awfully cute when she didn't feel she had to look scary.

And she memorized insults very quickly too.

* * *

It had been Pink's idea to go to Salem, and he had to admit maybe it wasn't a good idea. The only thing he had had in mind when suggesting that was going away from Shelter Mountain, and preferably to go to a touristic place. Because tourists were allowed to be weird.

But now that they were there, he regretted not having chosen a more child-friendly place. A place where no one would have been killed, and especially not for witchcraft. Samara wasn't complaining, but he could feel she didn't like it. He had tried to make her feel better by explaining no real witch had been killed.

But that only made things worse, and so did joking about the fact Samara wasn't the only one to kill innocent people.

"I've never hurt innocents," the girl protested. "I didn't want to. I was just angry, and it wasn't fair they were happy and I wasn't. I tried hard to be a good girl. I wanted mommy to love me, I wanted her to be proud of me."

"Those four kids you killed... the first ones... they had mothers too you know, and I don't think they were bad people."

"Yes they were. They lied. They said bad things about their families. They said lots of bad words. One of the boy said bad things about his mom. *They* weren't innocent."

"No. Just stupid. And maybe that boy just didn't get along with his family, just like..."

"I've never said any bad thing about mommy," Samara protested. "I loved mommy. And I know they had good families. They were still alive."

Pink didn't answer. He simply didn't know what to say. It was moments like that that made him wish he were better with children. It made him wish he were better with any kind of people actually.

He probably made a face while coming to this conclusion, because Samara stared at him anxiously.

"You thing I'm bad, don't you? I know I am. I try to be good, but I'm bad."

If he hadn't been slightly afraid of her, Pink would have hugged her at that point, but he refrained the urge to do so.

"You're not a bad kid," he told her. "You're kind of fucked up, that's for sure, but it's not your fault. You deserved better parents I guess. People who would have been able to take care of a special child. I'm sure you could have become a great person if you had been given a chance."

"Daddy said..."

"Listen Sam, I think it's time you understood something that's damn important. You dad was an idiot, and he was even worse with children than I am. So from now on, I don't ever want you to start a sentence with 'daddy said', because I think he never said anything true about you. Is that okay for you?"

"Don't give me orders."

"That's not an order. That's a suggestion you should really listen to, because it will help you learn the great secret of life: you can't always like your family, and it doesn't matter if you don't."

Samara gave him a horrified look, as if he had said the most terrible thing ever. And to her, it truly was the most terrible thing ever. She had never imagined she might be allowed to dislike Richard Morgan. She had thought she was a monster for hating him so much when he w as her father, and later on she had believed she deserved some of the things that had happened to her because she hadn't been a good daughter.

"You're not a good person," she eventually said to Pink. "Good people love their family. I don't want to be like you."

"So you think your dad was better than me?"

"I don't know."

"I do. I'm not a good person, you're right about that, but I'm still better than he was. No man should do to a kid any of the things he's done to you, even I know that. You don't lock kids in a barn. You don't make them live with horses. You don't send them to a psychiatric hospital just because they're not what you want them to be. That's just wrong."

It was Samara's turn not to know what to answer. Seeing that the girl seemed confused, Pink took her hand, hoping to comfort her. He didn't dare to hold her in his arms yet. Not yet. But soon. 


	6. Chapter 05

Rachel Keller sighed, and she angrily kicked her car's wheel. Great time to have a puncture, really. Well, it had been a rather bad day, so she wasn't really surprised.

First, she hadn't woken up that morning, even though she had an article to finish before lunch. Then Aidan had reminded her that she was supposed to drive him to his girlfriend's where he'd stay for the next few weeks. The girl lived in Salem, and they had met through an internet forum about supernatural experiences. It appeared Mindy had once met the ghost of several witches. Like everyone and their cousin in Salem, Rachel thought. She didn't really like Mindy, mostly because of her parents. Mr and Mrs Johns were just as obsessed with ghosts as their daughter was, maybe even more, and every time they saw Rachel, they would ask about 'that one encounter with the awful killer ghost child'.

The very thing Rachel did _not_ wish to discuss with two idiots who thought have watched Ghostbusters twice made them experts about the afterlife.

Well, truth be told, there wasn't anyone with whom she talked about the Morgan case. Even with Aidan she avoided it. She was scared that the mere fact of mentioning that monster would help her find them again. Sure, she had that website where she had told the whole stories, and sometimes she would get an email from someone who had lost a relative to the cursed tape, or from an idiot who thought it would make a great movie and felt the need to tell her so, but that was it. Samara Morgan had left her life, and this time it was forever.

That was the reason why, when the Johns tried to make her speak, Rachel had suddenly 'remembered' that she still had a lot of work to do, back at home, so she really had to go. It was only half a lie. She did have work to do after all.

She had had to park her car on a parking lot rather far away from the Johns because one of their neighbours was having a party and there were cars all over the street. It had annoyed her at first, but she was now glad of it. If the Johns had seen her flat tire, they might have offered her to stay the night, and that was something she really didn't want. Furthermore, as an independent, single-mom kind of woman, she had learned how to change a tire long ago. She was lucky, for a given value of lucky.

It was still a more difficult task than she remembered and when she was done with her car, she was slightly angry and hungry.

When she went to the nearest supermarket to get some cookies, the bench of the bus stop in front of the parking lot was empty. When she came back, there were two people sitting there. One was a boy in his twenties with bright red hair, glasses, and the general air of someone who doesn't get out much, the other one was a young girl with long black hair who was pouting and trying very hard not to laugh.

Rachel froze. There was something familiar about that girl, and she felt an awful urge to run as far away as possible. Yet she refused to recognize the kid, mostly because _she_ would never have laughed like that, _she_ would never have acted like a normal child and, more importantly, _she_ was trapped in the world of her damn tape and there was no way _she'd_ ever get out of there.

But it was still the same long, dark hair, the same big, black eyes, and although Rachel could not tell for sure from where she was, there was something strange about the girl's hands, a strange redness where the nails should have been, as if she had lost them somehow.

The pack of cookies fell from her hand, and she pushed her hand against her mouth to prevent herself from screaming. It was her. It was Samara. She was back.

* * *

Many ideas passed through Rachel's mind, most of them about how she could kill that monster and get rid of her once and for all, before she noticed again the young man with Samara.

He seemed alive. And not very dangerous. Probably the kind of kid who had spent all his high school years being bullied. Not someone you'd expect to see chatting with a spectral serial killer.

Unless it was him who had brought Samara back. Maybe to get his revenge on his old bullies, or to conquer the world or some other crap of the kind. He didn't look like someone very original.

But maybe she was mistaken, Rachel thought. This might just be a coincidence. Maybe they were just a little girl and her big brother; they seemed close after all, even if they didn't look like siblings. She had to make sure. She had to know.

She walked toward them cautiously, as if they would attack her if she startled them. And if it was Samara on that bench, it wasn't impossible. Now that she was closer, she could hear them. The boy had a foreign accent, maybe French. French trying to pass as British, she noted with a smirk. It sounded awfully silly.

"Listen, Sam," he said, "New-York was merely a suggestion. If you have a better idea, I'm listening."

_Sam_, Rachel noted. It could work as a nickname for Samara. But who would ever be stupid enough to give a nickname to a killing ghost?

"I wanna go somewhere sunny," the girl answered. "Somewhere fun! But not the sea. I don't like it."

"Maybe Disneyland," the boy said dreamily. "I've always wanted to go there, I've heard it's great..."

The dark haired girl nodded and was about to say something, when she noticed Rachel standing a few steps away, and their eyes met. And after that, there was no doubt possible for the journalist, because Samara too had recognized her. The dead girl looked as frightened as she was, and yet at the same time there was longing and hope shining in her black eyes. Hope for what, Rachel didn't want to know.

Samara's smile had disappeared so quickly that the young man with her noticed something was wrong, and he too finally saw Rachel. _He_ was not afraid. Slightly pissed off maybe, unless that was just his usual face. Anyway, he clearly didn't know who she was.

"Can I help you, ma'am?" he asked sharply. "Or do you just enjoy starring at little girls in the street? Or maybe you want to lecture me because _Oh god, the poor girl looks awful_? She's been sick not long ago, it's the first time in weeks that she's leaving the hospital."

"What do you... Do you even know who that girl is?" Rachel asked.

"Yeah. She's my niece. And yes, I'm French but no, she's not, because my brother emigrated here years ago, so yes, I'm just her uncle and I'm taking care of her for the holidays because her parents couldn't afford a single day off. Happy?"

Rachel did not answer, and the young man sighed.

"Sorry. People have been a pain in the ass because of her looks, and I'm not a very patient guy. Guess it's a good thing you're all so worried about her you all yell at me before asking any questions. Well, _you_ didn't yell. That's nice of you."

Samara quickly caught his hand and held it tightly, just the way normal kid would have done in front of someone they feared.

"That's a nice story," Rachel said, "but I don't think it's true. I don't think she's you niece. In fact, I don't think she's even alive, is she?"

"Ma'am, you're totally crazy. Does she look like a zombie to you?"

She didn't. The more Rachel looked at the girl, the more alive she seemed. Not quite as lively as most girls of that age, but definitively less dead than last time she had seen her. Had Samara not looked at her that way, she might have thought she was mistaken.

"I know who she is," the journalist said. "I know who she is and if you don't know, you're in great danger. Her name is Samara Morgan, she's a ghost, and she's dangerous. You shouldn't stay with her."

The young man shivered, and all colour left his face. Rachel expected him to either call her a liar or try to get away from Samara. Instead, he just drew the girl closer and hugged her tight.

"Listen lady, I don't know who you are, but Sam is harmless. Mostly."

"She killed people."

"Maybe. She's a kid. She didn't know what she was doing. It won't happen again. I'm here now, everything will be alright. I'll protect her."

This was... unexpected, Rachel thought. He wasn't acting like someone travelling with an evil ghost. He should have been either ignorant of Samara's true nature or trying to use her powers for his own interests. That he was so protective towards her was... strange, to say the least. It was as if he didn't realize how much of a menace the girl was. As if he didn't care.

"I think you don't understand", the journalist said, "you don't fully understand..."

"I gave you your chance, lady," the boy replied. "You should have left us alone."

He jumped on his feet, pulling the girl to him, and he started screaming.

"LEAVE US ALONE LADY!" he yelled. "HOW DARE YOU SAY THINGS LIKE THAT TO MY NIECE, YOU... YOU PERVERT, YOU FREAK! SHE'S EIGHT!"

At first, Rachel did not understand. It took her a few seconds to realize that everyone in the street was staring at them. The boy took Samara in his arms and started walking away. Rachel tried to catch his arm, but an old lady ran their way and insulted the journalist, using words she didn't know existed before that day. The old woman was soon joined by several other people who all wanted to call the police or to kill her right there and then for daring asking such awful things of a poor, innocent little girl. By the time Rachel managed to escape, Samara and her mysterious protector were already far away.

* * *

When Rachel eventually got back home, it was well past midnight and she was more tired than she had ever been in years. She prepared a hot bath, as hot as was humanly bearable, and after that she would eat all sorts of crappy, oily, artificially tasting food while drinking a cold beer in front of some silly movie about a silly girl and a silly boy falling in love and wasting their lives.

But first, she turned on her computer. She had to update her site about Samara's curse. She had to tell people the girl was back. She had to tell them this time, she wasn't alone. No one would read that, she was pretty sure of it, but she still had to do everything she could.

After that, Rachel took her bath, ate her food, drank her beer, watched her movie. And any other day she would have gone to bed after that, but that night, she decided to check her emails first. There was one in particular that caught her attention. It was very short. But also very interesting:

_It's probably my fault if she's back. I can help you stop her, forever this time. Write me back._

_Colonel Jackson._


	7. Chapter 06

This was bad, Pink thought while pulling Samara as far away from the bus stop as possible. This was very, very bad. He didn't know who that woman was, but _she_ knew who there were. Well, she knew who Samara was at least, and _that_ was very bad. Most people who knew the girl had someone to avenge, and he was sure there would be troubles soon. Lots of troubles. Which was bad.

They needed to leave the town as soon as possible. Go far, far away. Soon. Quick. Now.

Or else, people would find Samara. And she would have to kill again, this time to protect herself.  
Which was bad. (for a split second, Pink wished he could find a word stronger than 'bad' to describe the situation. 'Bad' was an awfully weak way of presenting things, and yet he couldn't find a better adjective)

He had to protect the girl, no matter what happened. He didn't know when that had become his _raison d'être_, but Samara was now the most important thing in his life. And it wasn't about to stop.

After a few minutes, Pink stopped running. A few more and he also stopped walking. He was absolutely lost, which at the moment was the safest thing he could think of. If he didn't know where he was, how could anyone else know? At least, he was trying very hard to convince himself that things worked that way, because he didn't have any other choice at the moment.

Now that he wasn't so anxious to get away from the blonde woman, the young man took some time to look at Samara.

The girl hadn't said a word in quite some time now and that, too, was bad. She was also looking like she had seen a ghost which, considering the situation, was particularly creepy. She then started shaking and, apparently, crying. Pink considered hugging her but decided not to. She sometimes reacted badly to unexpected marks of affection.

-Are you okay princess? he asked cautiously.

-It won't stop.

Pink flinched. He wasn't sure why, but _these_ words, in _her_ mouth, were the most terrifying thing he had ever heard.

-What's not going to stop?

-This, all this, Samara cried with sudden anger. People come and they say they're going to love me and they'll be good to me and then they hate me! Mommy she had come for me, and she told me once she'd always love me because she had chosen me and nobody else, and so I was the most precious thing in the world for her, but then she hated me and killed me!

-Sam, princess, you must understand she was...

-And THEN, Rachel also came for me, all the way for me, and she came to the well for me and she held me in her arms, but when I came to be with her she just didn't want me anymore!

Pink felt the beginning of a headache, and he knew it probably wasn't natural. Samara, would had always been so perfectly calm and incredibly normal until that day, was loosing her self-control.

-Princess, that woman just wanted to...

-And now, there's you! Samara said, no listening to him. And you came from even more far away than them, and you also say you're here for me, but you're going to leave, like the others! I won't let you leave me! Nobody will ever leave me again!

Pink's nose was bleeding heavily, and he fell on his knees. Samara didn't seem to notice the effect her anger had on him, and the young man was suddenly terrified because he now understood _why_ the others had ran away from the girl.

_She can kill me, he thought. She probably will, if she doesn't calm down. I always knew she had that power, but I never realized she might use it. And it's not that _I_ have done something wrong, it's just that she's afraid I _might_. Must have been the same with her mother. One careless word, and she'd think you no longer loved her, because she was a kid, and kid where often afraid of things like that, weren't they? Children are jealous, possessive, tyrannical, and with most of them it doesn't matter because they're powerless, but Samara can kill with a thought, or even without really thinking about it apparently. If she's frightened, you get scared too, and that's true fear, fear for your life. Most people can't stand such fear, makes them go crazy._

_But she's just a kid. She wants people to die sometimes, but she doesn't want them to be dead._

-Princess, I'll only leave you if you kill me, Pink hissed. So please, don't.

She looked at him with tears in her eyes, and the pain became less intense. But it didn't disappear. She still needed some convincing.

-Samara, look at me. I'm here. And you're hurting me, but I still don't want to go. So why are you afraid? The others didn't know what you could do, but I can, and I don't care. I'm still here. I'm too stupid to fear you, remember? And yeah, leaving you might be the clever thing to do. But I'm stupid and god, I love it, don't want to ever become smart, because I like taking care of you. So you need to stop being afraid. I'm not going anywhere, not without you.

-You promise?

-I promise on my life, Sam.

-If you leave I'll kill you.

-And only if I die will you get rid of me.

The pain, at last, disappeared. Pink, still on his knees, found an old tissue in his pocket and proceeded to clean the blood on his nose and mouth. Samara watched him with anxiety, still unsure of his loyalty to her. The young man forced an awkward smile to prove he still liked her, and before he could do anything she was hugging him tightly, as if her life depended on it.

His certainly did.

And he didn't mind a bit.

* * *

The colonel Jackson was not what you would call a friendly man. He had the sour face of a man who had long ago lost all his illusions about the world and who couldn't understand why anyone would still have useless feeling such as hope or faith. Life was a dark, cruel thing, and he had no intention to make it nicer for anyone.

Rachel knew she ought to have pitied him. His only son, a thirteen years old boy, had been killed by Samara a few years ago, and it was a pain the journalist knew too well.

But right now, all she could think about was that the man in front of her was almost more frightening to her than the dead girl had ever been. And that, indeed, was a terrible thought.

But he was a powerful man, with powerful friends, and he knew about Samara. Good or bad, he was the only ally Rachel had at that moment, and she truly had no one else to turn to.

-This will be easy enough, he said. After that incident at the inn... apparently our young friends attacked the owner of Shelter Mountain Inn and left her for dead. Of course the old woman said _he_ had tried to kill her, and that will work just fine for us. It will be dreadfully easy to have all newspapers in the state telling the story of a crazy foreigner who kidnapped a young orphan. We'll have to say he's armed and dangerous of course, so that no one gets near them.

-Yes, we wouldn't want Samara to kill anyone else.

Mr Jackson smiled viciously, as if people dying was the last of his problems.

-Actually, he said, no one should get near them because according to you, the girl seems quite close to that man, and they might be able to convince other people that they're completely innocent. After all he already did it once when you met them, and he made the girl like him. Clever boy probably.

-And he wants to protect her, Rachel said without thinking. That's strange. Why would he protect her when he knows what she is? I wonder...

-Don't.

-What?

-Don't wonder, said the colonel with an icy voice. Don't think about them. Don't try to understand. When you first heard about her, you tried to _understand_, didn't you? And what good did it do? People died, and even you narrowly escaped. Do you want that to happen again? Do you want to be responsible for more deaths, Miss Keller? The first time you thought you were being helpful, and we can't blame you for that, can we? But if once again she makes more victims, just because you felt like trying to understand that little monster, why, but it'd be just as bad as if you killed those people yourself! Is that what you want, Miss Keller?

Oh, really, Rachel didn't like the colonel Jackson. He was a cruel, sadistic bastard who obviously enjoyed to remind her that Samara's crimes were also hers, in a twisted way. He was a terrible person.

He was also terribly right.

It was Rachel who had allowed Samara to kill innocents, in order to save her son.

And now the time had come to redeem herself, and she simply couldn't allow herself to try to understand what was going on between the dead girl and her French man.

Not when Samara could start again her murders at any moment.

* * *

_Well, look at that, I'm alive. _

_Sorry it took so long to update. All kind of things happened, I had no will or energy to write on this story. But now, here's a chapter. Can't promise there's going to be another one soon._

_Also, I realize I didn't warn potential readers, but this story is supposed to be... well, sweet. For a given value of sweet. Ever since I first watched the movie, I've wished Samara could rest in peace, and that's why I'm writing this story._


	8. Chapter 07

It had taken Pink by surprise. He had never really expected to ever see his face on the newspapers, and certainly not accompanied by the words "child molester on the run". But at least, they had found a rather nice picture of him -though where they had found it he didn't know, considering he had never liked having his picture taken. Someone at university probably.

There was no picture of Samara, but the article mentioned her too. Young girl. Long black hair. Pale. Lost her nails after a terrible sickness. Abducted by evil man who was completely mental and very dangerous.

Pink wished he could have protested.

Crazy he might have been, but dangerous, certainly not. Samara, on the other hand...

He didn't let her see the newspaper of course. She had not yet fully recovered of their encounter with Rachel Keller two days ago, and Pink didn't know how she would react to the news that they were now wanted.

Probably not well.

So he took her by the hand and without a word, they walked until they were out of the small town where they had spent the night. Then they walked some more, because Pink was now scared someone might see them. He took Samara to a small earth path between two fields of corn and when they were far away from the main road, he sat down and invited her to do the same. No one would find them here, it was safe, or so he hoped.

-Princess, I have bad news. It seems...

-They said you were a bad man, Samara said. In the newspaper. I saw it.

-You did?

-I'm a big girl you know. I can read, especially big letters like that. I'm not _stupid_. And there was a picture of you, but you look nicer in reality. And they said you were bad, but you're not. You're nice.

-Stupid but nice. Yep, that would be me.

-You're not always stupid, said Samara.

And that was probably the nicest thing anyone had ever told him. Pink, who until that point had been scared to death by that whole new situation, suddenly calmed down, feeling strangely happy.

After all, if Samara could remain calm, so could he.

-You understand that this is very bad, right? He asked.

-What, saying you're not stupid?

-Yeah, no, that was... cute, actually. No, I meant... what was in the paper. About me having kidnapped you and all. Means now, people will be after us. Police, people in the street... at any moment we could be recognized and then we're in big trouble. I don't know why this is happening, but...

-It's Rachel, Samara said.

And she still _looked_ very calm, but suddenly, Pink realized that she really wasn't. Looking closely, he could see many emotions in her dark eyes. Fear. Anger. Hate. Sadness.

And, strangely, a hint of Guilt.

-I don't think the journalist could have done that by herself, Pink said in what he hoped to be a reassuring voice. And I don't think she'd ever want to have to fight you again.

-We never fought, the girl protested. _I_ never fought.

-No, you sure didn't. But she did. And she's probably very much afraid of you now, and she won't want to have you... _us_ as enemies. It can't be her, princess. It's got to be... that old crazy woman at the inn.

_That's a lie, Pink thought._

-She _did_ call me a pervert and a freak and all kind of niceties, remember? I bet you that as soon as she woke up, she went to the police and told them about us.

_Not quite a lie this one, but you always needed some truth in your lies anyway._

-And they believed her because, well, maybe some of the people we met afterwards also decided we were kind of suspicious, and they also told the police, and that's how you end up with your face in the newspapers. Because these people, they all thought I might be dangerous, while your journalist _knew_ that _you_ were, and she is clever enough to stay away from us.

_More lies, and at any other time, she'd never believe me because that's the most stupid lie I ever said. And that's something._

_

* * *

_

And Samara believed him, but only because she desperately wanted, no, _needed_ to.

Parts of her still wanted to trust Rachel, just as she had trusted mommy till the very end, hoping until her very last breath that her mother would change her mind and take her back and they'd be happy again. Even now, even after everything that had happened, if Anna Morgan came back suddenly and told Samara she was sorry, the girl would love her again.

She had never stopped loving her.

Just as she had never stopped loving Rachel.

There had been too few people to ever care about her for her to start hating any of them. She was eight. She had been eight for years, decades. She needed to love someone, _anyone_, and if that meant loving people who had wanted to get rid of her several times, then so be it. She didn't really have the choice.

So she believed what Pink said. That Rachel had nothing to do with it. It didn't make the situation that much easier, really, but she felt better about it and that was something.

-So, what are we going to do? She asked after a few minutes. Are we going to tell people you're in fact real nice? If I tell them you're nice, it should be okay. I wouldn't like you if you were mean to me. It would be stupid. So I'll tell them, and...

-Won't work.

Samara glared at the young man. She didn't like to be interrupted, and even less so when it was to be told she was wrong. People who thought she was wrong, until now, had mostly included her father and the doctors -partly because nobody else would listen to her -and she hadn't liked them at all and she would always regret she had not gone after them because it was not fair _they_ had survived while mommy and herself had died.

Maybe, once that whole newspaper problem was over, she would ask Pink to take her to the doctors to get a proper revenge and then she'd never kill anyone ever again, promise, and the two of them could live happily ever after and it would be sweet.

But first, she asked Pink why she couldn't go tell other people that he was really not a bad man, just a little strange at times.

-There are many reason, he answered. For example, because they won't listen. See, if you tell them you're the girl I'm supposed to have kidnapped, they'll take you to a hospital...

She gasped, terrified.

-To make sure you're okay, that I didn't hurt you, Pink added quickly. It would be... the _right_ kind of hospital. The ones where they actually help people get better. But even there, if you tell them I'm a good guy, they won't listen to you. They will think I lied to you, that I threatened you to do horrible stuff if you said I was bad.

-That's stupid.

-No, it's not. That's what usually really happens to children who are taken from their family. That's what bad people do to children they kidnap, they lie and threaten and pretend to be their friends to confuse them. Everybody would assume that's what happened to you and, really, I can't blame them. It's... you know. _Good_. That people worry, I mean. They should worry, because, well, what that newspaper said, it _could_ be the truth.

-But you _didn't_ kidnap me!

-Yeah, but only you and me know that. And by the time they start wondering if you're not telling the truth, weeks will have passed, and they will have discovered that, strictly speaking, you don't exist. 'cause, you know, you're dead and all that. If you tell them your real name, they'll think you're lying, because not many girls are called Samara Morgan, and the only one I've ever heard of has been dead for years, since, you know, that's you. Of course, you could give them a _fake_ name, but they will soon realize that in reality, no eight years old girl of your description disappeared lately.

-So they will know you were really nice!

-No. They'll just think I kidnapped you years ago. They'll think I tortured you, because look at your hands, most people have nails. Most girls sleep at night. Most girls might not burn the doctors' minds if they ask too many questions.

_But you are not most girls, and you are not normal, and they might think you're crazy and send you to a _wrong_ hospital._

Pink didn't have to say the words, Samara still heard them.

And she had never hated her weirdness more than she did now. If she had been normal, she could have told the people that Pink was nice, and everyone would have left them alone and it would have been very nice.

But of course, if she had been normal, she would have stayed with her first mommy and she would be a grown up by now and none of the bad things in her life would have happened.

She really wished she had been normal.

-So what can we do? She asked miserably. What's going to happen?

-If people find us, it's end of the story for us, Pink said. You're going to an orphanage or something like that. I'm going to jail for the rest of my life. End of story.

-But what can we _do_?

Pink smiled, and he did so with such a endearing spark mischief in his eyes that Samara felt herself smiling too, as if he were contagious.

-Well, princess, it's fairly easy, the young man said. What we can do is this: we don't get caught, obviously. Now, I know what you're going to say, this is not a proper plan. But I've got an idea, and you're gonna love it.

* * *

And that was a lie, really, because Samara didn't love the idea at all.

For one thing, it involved her becoming blond and wearing the silliest, ugliest pink and blue dress ever. She had tolerated Pink calling her a princess because it was kind of sweet now that she was used to it and it made her feel she was important to him and she liked that, but the dress was too much and made her look like a cupcake.

-God, you look completely dumb, Pink laughed.

Samara, for a split second, thought she ought to have killed him right there and then. He deserved it, and she hated people laughing at her and not taking her seriously. But then again, Pink wasn't looking very clever either, and he certainly knew it. He was wearing the ugliest shirt ever, blue with big, ugly red flowers, and he also had those shorts that were showing his skinny, white, hairy legs, and he had dyed his hair blond too, and Samara decided she couldn't kill him now. He was looking too stupid, and it would not be fair on him that after having been so nice to her, he'd have to be forever remembered by the people who would discover his corpse as "that one dead guy with no fashion sense".

And, well, they were both stupid looking now, and had the same bright, yellow hair, so people might assume more easily that they were siblings. At least, that was what Pink was aiming at.

Turned out he had bought days ago stuff for a complete make over of the two of them.

He had always known there would be problems, Samara suddenly understood. He had always known people would be suspicious. He had always know being with her would get him into lots of troubles, just as he had always known she could kill him at any moment.

And yet he hadn't cared. Better, he had stayed, and said he would always stay.

She would never tell him, because in her experience telling things was always a bad move, but she decided that day that having an Uncle was maybe even nicer than having a Mommy.

* * *

_Quiet week-end, and I'm in a writing mood, so here you go. Once again, I can't promise anything about the next chapter, but at least I've started it, so that's something._


	9. Chapter 08

They had started using fake names of course. Pink had become 'uncle George', Samara was now 'little Susie'. They both hated those names, so common and ordinary and _normal_, but they were supposed to be common and ordinary and normal now. Pink had soon turned the whole thing into a game: he'd call her Susie as often as possible and Samara, angry, would retaliate by using George as often as possible.

As a result, she would often giggle for no reason, completely caught in the game, like any normal eight years old girl would be. Soon, she started calling him George when they were alone too, and Pink knew this was very, very good. Because you never knew who was near you when you were alone, did you? Anyone could be eavesdropping on them, especially people who would suspect something, but if they used the fake names even in private, then it was safer, wasn't it?

Pink did his best to hide it, but with every day that passed, he was more scared. It had started with one newspaper, but now they all had his picture and a drawing of Samara, and they were on TV too, and probably on the radio and the internet. It seemed someone really wanted to get their hands on the two of them, and that someone, whoever it was, would not let them escape easily.

He really wished he knew what he was doing. He wished he had friends. People who would tell him what to do. He even wished he still had his parents, even though he had never had very high opinion of their intelligence. It would have been nice just to know there was someone out there who might have helped them.

He had never much liked the 'alone against the world' kind of story, and now that he was living one, and liked it less than ever.

But at least Samara seemed happy for the moment. It was all a game to her, and she liked playing. Loved it. When it would be all over, Pink would buy her dozens of toys, everything she would want. And books. And pretty clothes. All the things she never had before.

If they survived, he'd be the best parent a little girl could dream of, so he begged to all the gods he didn't believe in to let them be safe.

* * *

But of course, there was only so much a stupid hair colour and silly clothes could do. It was obvious that one day, someone would realize that except for the fact that he was now blond, Pink was 'that goddamn pervert from the news' and that they would act to 'protect the poor lil' girl'. He had also always known that when it happened, people would be in danger. Because of Samara.

He had just never realized that _he _might be in danger too.

Which was why he now had a gun against his head, a nose that was probably broken, blood in his mouth and a dire need of clean pants.

And yet, all he could think was that _shit, Samara is starting to realize this is all really happening and in a few second she's going to get angry and that man is going to die and so are the people around us because they're insulting me and telling him to kill me and this is all going to be my fault and I just hope she has enough self-control to not kill me too._

_

* * *

_

Then the man struck him with the handle of his gun and everything went black.

It was true that it had taken some time until Samara fully realized what was going on. After all, it had all started as a perfectly nice day. They had been pretending to be Susie and George for a week now, and she was starting to think this was all extremely fun. Oh, she had noticed Pink was a bit anxious at times, but she couldn't imagine why. They looked like completely different persons now, nobody could ever know it was them. Even Rachel or mommy couldn't have told it was Samara, so there was no need to worry.

But then, they had stopped in that little restaurant by the road. They had been walking all morning -Pink did not dare using public transports -and they were tired and hungry. Samara liked being tired and hungry, because you had to be alive for that. She loved every single proof of her being alive, no matter how unpleasant, because she knew it was a true, honest to god miracle, and she wouldn't have wanted to seem ungrateful.

But as Samara and Pink started eating a huge plate of fries, a man had approached them and had silently stared at the French boy for what seemed an eternity. Pink, usually quick to verbally attack anyone who so much as looked at them, had remained silent for once. Maybe because the man next to them was a giant twice as big as him. Pink was stupid, but not _that_ stupid. Thinking about it latter, Samara realized that her Uncle had been terrified, as if he had known what was going to happen, but at that moment she hadn't seen it. There were fries. Fries were good. Nothing else mattered.

She was even sort of hoping the man would stay a bit longer staring at Pink, because then she could probably steal _his_ fries, which would be super nice and fun. But the giant started talking, and from that point, things just went downhill.

-Eyh, dude, can I ask ye a question? The man told Pink. Just, what's yer name?

Later, Samara would realize it was a weird question. But _fries_. There were _fries_. She had never been allowed to have fries with mommy, because they were bad for health. So now she had a chance to eat some, she refused to let anything distract her.

Pink had answered, probably, and there must have been something in his answer that did not please the giant, because the tall man suddenly punched Pink in the face, dragged him on the ground and put a gun against his temple.

-That's him alright! The man yelled. That's him from the news, and that's the girl he kidnapped, just look at him!

Before Samara could protest, someone, a woman certainly, grabbed her and held her in her arms, whispering some stupid things about her being safe now. And everybody was yelling at Pink and calling him horrible names. Samara, slowly catching up with the situation, tried to tell the woman holding her that this was all a mistake and that Pink was actually very nice in reality, but nobody listened to her, and Pink was in danger, and they were going to kill him right there and then, she could feel it, and she had to do something quickly to protect him.

She was about to try to kill them all -or at least, hurt them enough to allow Pink and her to run away, because Pink said she should not kill, didn't he? -when her eyes met those of the young man, and something happened.

* * *

Samara had always been able to very easily force her thoughts onto other people, that was a fact, and she had never really minded until it made mommy went mad. It was the normal order of things, as far as she was concerned. She had never known anything else and had been quite surprised when she had realized other people couldn't do that.

But sometimes, when she was scared or terribly angry, Samara would see what was in other people's head, and she hated it. It was terrifying. The things in her own head might not be pretty, but other people's brains... she shivered just thinking of it.

She could remember the hate and anger and fear she had sometimes seen in daddy's head, or in the doctors' for that matter. They wanted her gone, because she was like nothing they had ever seen, because she was a threat, because they couldn't understand what was going on with her, and they had all been people of facts and logic, and they had all despised anything that wasn't logical, including her.

But more than anything, she remembered what had been on mommy's thoughts the day she went into the well, and that had been the single worst experience of her life, worse than dying. Mommy had wished she had never existed, wished to erase every single trace of her existence, she had wanted Samara to be forgotten for ever.

And the worst part of it was that she couldn't control those moments.

And that was what happened when her eyes met those of Pink.

Suddenly, she could hear everybody's thoughts, feel their hatred, their anger, their desire of death and blood, as if Pink's alleged crimes had awoken the beast in them. They were afraid too, something that often happened to people when they were near Samara and she wasn't feeling comfortable, but somehow they had stupidly convinced themselves it was Pink they were afraid of, and that made them even more angry because really, how could that skinny little guy ever be frightening, and they were going to kill him and it would all be Samara's fault and...

And then, she met Pink's eyes.

He was scared of course. Terrified even, ready to wet his pants, if _that_ wasn't already done. But it wasn't of death he was afraid. No, what he feared -that idiot -was that with him gone, Samara would be left all alone.

The woman holding Samara screamed and pushed her away, huge burns appearing on her hands and arms. Another good soul tried to grab the girl to protect her, but as soon as his fingers brushed her pale skin, he let out a sharp yell. Pink, in a sudden strike of protectiveness, struggled against his aggressor's hold, as if to come to Samara's help.

Apparently, the giant with a gun had only been waiting for an excuse to start seriously hitting the young man. Pink fell on the floor, unconscious.

Or possibly more than unconscious.

Samara could no longer hear his thoughts. His mind was dreadfully blank.

* * *

And for half a second, Samara's brain went blank too and she had to close her eyes.

When she opened them again, she was the only person still on her feet in the restaurant.


	10. Chapter 09

It had taken some efforts for Samara to drag Pink's body outside of the restaurant, but she hadn't really minded that much. What really mattered to her was that when she had taken his wrists in her hands, she had felt a pulse. Slow, weak and probably not as regular as it should have been, but a pulse anyway. She had seen enough dead people to know it meant _he_ wasn't one.

After half an hour of effort, she managed to drag him far away from the restaurant. In this case, it meant a dozen meters at best, but it would have to do, and she hid him in the middle of an ugly decorative bush with stupid red flowers.

Luckily, it had been a really _small_ restaurant, apparently mostly frequented by a few regulars and the occasional passing tourists. By the time someone finally worried enough about those people to come there and find the bodies, the sun was beginning to set. Hours had passed in a instant.

And Pink was still sleeping.

Had Samara been older, she might have taken more notice of the wound left on the side of his head where the gun had hit him. She might then have seen that the young man had lost more blood than was truly reasonable, and also that it was, in fact, a rather nasty wound that could very well have made some damage to his brain. She would then have realized that he needed some medical help, and that he needed it soon.

But she was eight, she was terrified of losing the only person who hadn't been afraid of her in years, and she had just killed fourteen people. So she just kept think -_hoping_ -he was only sleeping.

When the police arrived at the restaurant, they immediately noticed that the back door was opened, and Samara and Pink were quickly found by a man and a woman. She didn't like that. She had believed it would be terribly difficult for anyone to find them where they were.

It was a bad start.

However things quickly got better. The policemen did not consider for one second that Samara and Pink had anything to do with the many corpses in the restaurant -she would later learn that all this was eventually blamed on food poisoning. Furthermore they immediately understood that Pink's health was in danger and when Samara refused to let them go near him, the man explained calmly why it was important that her uncle was quickly sent to an hospital.

-You'll go with him, don't worry, the woman added. And I'm sure he'll be alright, but he needs to see a doctor right away, or he might get very sick.

-He's already sick, Samara said. There's blood everywhere, and he slept very long.

-Exactly. You don't want to get even sicker, right? So we'll take the two of you to the nearest hospital as soon as the ambulance gets here.

-I don't like hospitals. They're bad.

-Nobody likes hospitals, the policewoman said, winking at her and smiling.

This was new, Samara thought.

People didn't usually smile at her, except for Pink.

People didn't usually try to explain things to her, except for Pink.

People usually instinctively feared her and tried to go as far away from her as possible, except for Pink.

So far, she had believed it just meant Pink was completely different from other people, a bizarre thing to be treasured.

But maybe, in fact, Pink was just one of many other persons who could see past her strangeness, and it was all those people she had met before who weren't the norm.

It was a new idea.

She quite liked it, and she hoped it was right.

Nothing happened in the ambulance. There were people around trying to start cleaning Pink's wound, and telling each others things Samara didn't want to understand. Some of the words where hospital language. She had heard them before and didn't want to remember their meaning, fearing that they might bring back other memories with them. This hospital would be different, she told herself again and again. They would save Pink. They would make him feel better. This was going to be a good hospital where they help those who aren't well.

Sometimes, the people in the ambulance would turn to her, and tell her everything was going to be just fine, and that there was nothing to worry about. But she could feel the lies. They didn't know if it would be fine. They didn't _think_ it would be fine. She knew it. Felt it.

They were going to a good hospital, one where they try to help people.

But that didn't mean they could always succeed.

-_There_!

Rachel jumped, surprised by the ferocious joy in the colonel's voice. It didn't take her long to understand what could have brought such a reaction from him. There was only one thing that man wanted.

-You found the girl? She asked, already knowing the answer.

-The little monster, and that freak travelling with her. In a hospital. They gave fake names and wore disguises, but my man there is sure that it's them.

-Did they hurt someone?

The idea a Samara in a hospital brought back bad memories. Memories of her possessing Aidan and using his body to kill people.

-They were found behind a restaurant, the colonel said. Everybody in there dead. Even the man with her was badly hurt, may be dead by tomorrow. The girl is playing the amnesia card, says she didn't see anything and just want her 'uncle' to be saved. The doctors seem to be buying it for the moment, but we should go there quickly before she runs away.

Rachel nodded. It was odd, she thought. She hadn't had much time to study their relationship, but when she had met Samara and the young red-haired man, she had had a feeling that the girl somehow cared for him. Why did she attack him then, and more important, why was she pretending to care about him? If she had learned anything about Samara in the past, it was that she _wasn't_ a good actress. Her impersonation of Aidan had been terrible. She clearly didn't know how to pretend to be anything but herself.

So how did she suddenly learn to lie so well that doctors and probably the social workers who must have been keeping an eye on her couldn't see it?

Maybe it wasn't a lie. Maybe the girl really cared for that man, and it had all been... an accident. She tended to hurt the people she loved most, Rachel thought. Her mothers, Rachel herself, and now the boy. Had she not killed so many people only because they were _there_, one might have felt pity for her.

-You look concerned Ms Keller, the colonel said suddenly. I hope you're not having second thoughts?

-I'll have them when _she_ does. How long to get there?

-Just a few hours.

-Not a minute to lose then. Let's go and stop her, for good this time.


	11. Chapter 10

Pink was dying.

Oh, of course everybody in the hospital kept telling Samara that he would make it, that he was going to be fine, but she knew it. Felt it.

Just a few more hours, and he would be dead.

But the doctors and nurses didn't know. Didn't understand. She almost wanted to tell them, so that they would stop telling her everything would be fine. Wanted to tell them they didn't need to keep trying to save him. There was nothing they could do now. Samara could feel his death coming, just as she had felt her own death coming, just as clearly as she saw the things in her head.

And oh, the things she was seeing now. Horrors. Things that other people would never see, even in their worst nightmares. Things that no one should have ever seen, let alone a young child. Most of the time, it was all she could do not to throw up with each new image that appeared in her brain.

She had tried closing her eyes.

It had only made things worse.

The worse thing was, as long as she had been with him, it had almost stopped. The pictures had gone, most of them, and she had gotten used to not seeing horrors all the time. And the pictures that had been left were... less terrifying. Even _nice_ sometimes, when Pink would hug her and smile at her like she was the most precious thing on Earth. She had liked that.

But he was leaving, and the bad pictures where coming back.

* * *

They had arrived at the hospital two days earlier, and she had been allowed to stay with him at the hospital, in his room.

It hadn't been easy to achieve.

First she had had to convince people that they _weren't_ the man and the girl in the newspapers, and that hadn't been too difficult in fact, because of their dyed hair and of the way she wouldn't let go of his hand. They didn't look like a kidnapper and his victim, it seemed. Then she had made everyone believe they should let her stay in Pink's room instead of sending her away with social workers, and it had been more difficult. Every time somebody came in the room she had to make them forget she shouldn't have been there. But it was still easier than all the times when she had made people kill themselves. Making people change their mind was easier than having them die. She wished she had discovered that earlier.

Pink would have been proud of her if he had known.

She was a good girl now. She hadn't killed anybody at all since that day at the restaurant, even when she had been frightened.

At first she had hoped if she was good enough, the heavens would thank her and make Pink all better again to reward her goodness. Mommy used to say if you were a good girl God would love you and He would help you and answer your prayers.

But nothing happened.

Apparently, two days of goodness weren't enough to make God love her.

Sometimes a nurse would come and see her. Talk to her. Try to make her feel better. They were nice, usually, and they tried very hard to make her smile. But they couldn't make the guilt go away. Without her, Pink would never have been hurt. Without her, his life wouldn't have been ruined. Without her, he would be asleep in that cold white room. Without her, he wouldn't be dying. It was all her fault, once again.

The nurses stopped coming after she realized he was dying. The pictures had become so strong by then that other people would see them too, even though they hadn't realized yet that it was her fault. In any case, they would all find excuses to stay away from her. Just like before. So she was once again alone. Just like before.

On the day before Pink's death -Samara knew it, _felt_ it with a painful certainty -a braver nurse than the others came in to talk to her and, instead of telling her that Pink would be fine, he asked her how _she_ was.

He was an older man -old by the standards of a young girl in any case. He might have been forty, but could also have been much younger or older. Samara instantly liked him. He didn't seem to mind the pictures, and treated her the way Pink had. As if he saw her not as a monster or as a silly little child, but just as another human being. She liked that.

-You always look so sad, he said. It won't help him you know.

-Nothing can, Samara answered honestly. He's going to die. Today. I know it.

-Well, with you having such bad thoughts around him, there are few chances he'll want to live, don't you think? You know, you're so gloomy and sad that coming in this room feels like entering a tomb.

Samara frowned.

-How can I have good thoughts when I don't even know what's wrong with him? She asked. Nobody tells me anything. They say he's fine. But I know he's not, because people who are fine, they don't sleep always like he does!

-They don't want to scare you, that's all. Because your uncle is very sick. His head was hurt badly and it touched his brain, so the doctors aren't sure he'll ever wake up again.

-He's going to die.

-No, maybe not. Dying is different. What's happening to him is called a coma, and it's like sleeping but it lasts longer. His body is still alive, but his mind... it's more difficult to know. Maybe he hears everything that goes on around him. Maybe his body goes on, but his mind is dead. Now one can know, unless he wakes up some day, and we can't know if that will happen. Do you understand?

Samara nodded, even though she wasn't sure she really did understand. She knew people could be alive, or dead. She had no idea there were so many shades between those two states. There were many things she didn't know, and she didn't like that.

Perplexed by that entirely new concept that had been exposed to her, she forgot to make the nurse forget she was there when he left. When she realized it a few hours later, she decided it probably wasn't important. He had been a such nice man, almost as nice as Pink. He wouldn't do anything bad.

And indeed, the nurse did nothing _bad_. From his point of view, emailing the colonel to tell him he had found Samara was the right thing to do.

* * *

_6 months of waiting, and for such a short chapter? If you feel disappointed, you are probably right and I apologize. Life has been... well, let's say it has been _interesting_. I am just starting to pick up writing again, after weeks and weeks of a terrible writer block. I hope to be able to conclude this fanfiction in the not too distant future, and promise I'll try very hard. And I'll try not to post next chapter in half a year._


	12. Chapter 11

For the tenth time that morning, Pink tried to open his eyes, and failed completely. This was becoming _slightly_ frustrating.

He had been fully awake for a few hours now, ever since he had heard Samara's voice crying, _begging_ him not to leave her. Which, in his opinion, had been rather silly. He wasn't in any state to leave. His mind might have been there, but his body had stubbornly refused to move, no matter how hard he tried.

And oh, didn't he _try_.

Because Samara, poor, lonely Samara, was right next to him, talking to him. And it simply broke his heart.

"It's getting close," she said. "In less than one hour now. You are going to die."

_No I'm not_, Pink thought. _I'm feeling pretty good. My head hurts less than when I woke up._

"It's okay you know. It's not your fault. It's mine. So I can't be angry with you, even though you said you'd always took care of me and now you won't. But I promise I won't be angry. I'll be good."

_Of course you will. You are always good. It's the rest of the world that was bad._

"Do you think, maybe, if I promise to be very good, you could not die? If it works for Santa, maybe it will work for you?"

_Princess, I'm not Santa, it doesn't work that way. But everything will be fine, really. I'm feeling better. Just give me a little time, and I'll make that stupid move, and we'll be together again._

"It's not fair, that you're leaving. I finally had someone nice. Someone who was never afraid. Someone who cared. Someone who never once thought that I should die. You were so nice, always."

_Always, really?_

"Well, maybe not always. But very often, at least. And even when you made fun of me, I think it was because you liked me. I think you liked me. You liked me, didn't you?"

_You are the best thing that ever happened to me, princess._

"_I_ liked you anyway. I'm sorry I always said you were stupid. Even if you _were _stupid, I should have been nicer. Maybe, if I had been better, you wouldn't have to die. Maybe if I had been better since the beginning, people wouldn't have hated me so much, and then it would all have been so nice, and mummy would have loved me and kept me."

_It wasn't your fault, you were just... born that way. And if your mother had kept you, I'd never have met you._

"But then, I'd never have met you. And I'm glad I met you. I think, meeting you, it makes all the bad things... not so bad."

_Same here, princess. Same here._

They were both silent after that. Pink was almost sure Samara was crying though. So he tried to open his eyes again. He was sure if you could just open his eyes, it would show her he was still there, that he would always be there. He had to open them. Why was it so hard to open those stupid eyes? He had done it thousands, millions of times before, often unconsciously, so why had it suddenly become the most difficult thing he had ever attempted?

He spent a few minutes trying to make his body obey him again, until he heard the rattle of a chair next to him. Samara standing up. Leaning over him. Shyly kissing his cheek.

"It's coming," she whispered. "Just a few minutes. Then you'll die. I'm sorry. I don't want to see you die. It's too sad. I think, if I see you die, it will kill me, or maybe it will just make me like... like before. Angry. I don't want to be angry again."

_No, don't go! It's going to be okay! I can almost open my eyes, just a few seconds and I'll do it, look at me! I'm going to open my eyes and I'm going to stand up and we're going to leave this hospital and I'll take you somewhere nice and sunny where you'll make friends and go to school and live a life as normal as people like us can, and you'll be so happy, I swear you'll finally be happy, I swear on everything I have, so please Sam, stay here and look at me because I'm going to **open my eyes!**_

And finally, his eyes opened.

Samara was gone.

Pink closed his eyes again.

* * *

Samara didn't know where she was. She had just wanted to be as far away from Pink as possible when he... when it happened. She wasn't sure how she'd react, and she knew it would probably be better if there weren't too many people around her, because she might... hurt them. Maybe worse than hurt. And she didn't want that. She had to be a good girl now. Pink would have wanted her to be a good girl.

So she had found a lonely place. All she knew for sure was that she had gone down many stairs and there where no windows anywhere, so maybe it was underground. She didn't know. She didn't care. All that mattered was that she could still hear Pink's beating heart, as loud as when she had been holding his hand, and soon it would stop, and the silence would be the most terrible thing ever.

But it wasn't silent yet. There was Pink's heart, and there was... something else. The sound of steps. She stopped. The sound continued, coming closer. And suddenly, a mad hope appeared in her heart, because there was only one person who wouldn't be driven away from her, when her mind was in such a wild, uncontrolled state. Only one person who could possibly have followed her there.

She turned around, smiling and hoping and wishing and ready to cry tears of happiness if it really was Pink, if there had been a miracle.

But it wasn't him.

It was a man she didn't know, a man tall and dark and scary. A man holding a gun. And right next to him, there was Rachel.

"It ends today," the man said.

He pointed his gun toward Samara. She screamed.

But there was a little voice, deep down inside her, who was almost... happy. At least, she wouldn't have to survive alone.

* * *

Pink heard the scream, and sat up so fast it made him dizzy.

Samara was in danger.

Samara needed him.

He stood up, not without difficulty, his legs already weakened by those few days of immobility. He almost fell when he took his first step.

But Samara needed him.

That thought gave him all the strength he needed.

He left the room. He didn't notice he was wearing one of those ridiculous scrubs they inflicted on sick people, thus leaving his ass to the view of all. Had he noticed, he wouldn't have cared.

Samara was in danger. Samara needed him. Nothing else mattered.

He walked as fast as he could, but it wasn't fast enough. He ran as fast as he could, but that was still too slow. She was still screaming, still terrified, and if he didn't get to her in time, if something happened to her...

He ran down the stairs, almost falling several times.

He ran along the dark corridors under the hospital, slipping on the wet floor.

He ran as if his life depended on it.

He ran because Samara's life depended on it.

And finally, he found them.

His vision was blurry without his glasses, and his head was spinning from all the running, and it took him a few seconds to understand what was going on.

There was... a man. Tall. Huge. Something in his hand. Something small and deadly. He was kicking... something lying on the ground-no, someone, it was _someone_, because it was screaming and begging and crying -and he was yelling. Insults. Threats. Laughters.

Next to the man, a woman. Blonde. Yelling. Trying to stop the man. Trying to protect whatever, _whoever_ was on the ground. Claiming it was going too far, it had to stop, something had changed, they needn't kill her, she had _changed_.

And then, on the ground.

Pink couldn't look on the ground.

He knew who it was. And it was more than he could stand.

He ran again, toward the man this time.

The man, having not expected anyone to interrupt him, and surprised, startled. He did what any startled man with a gun would have done when attacked by a mad-eyed, half-naked man appearing out of thin air.

He fired.

Pink fell.

* * *

_Good news is, there should only be one chapter left after this one. AND it didn't take me 6 months to update this time, so that also counts as good news, right?_


	13. Chapter 12

Rachel had rushed to the young man and tried to look at his wound, but the colonel had immediately pushed away, a terrible grin on his face.

"He's dying!" the journalist. "We can't just let him die here, like this! Why did you shoot? Look at him, it's a miracle that boy even had enough strength to _stand_, how on earth could he have been a menace to you, to _anyone_?"

"He was with her."

"And that was enough to _kill_ him? Just because he didn't see what Samara really was?"

"No one stupid enough to believe her to be good deserves to live. Think of it as helping natural selection, and be glad I'm allowing you to live, after all you've done for her."

It wasn't the first time the colonel mentioned that he should have killed her for freeing Samara, all those years ago. It was however the first time Rachel realized that he would in fact do it as soon as he no longer needed her, and that this moment was approaching dangerously fast.

"You're mad," she whispered. "You are completely _mad_, you're probably worse than even _her_."

He didn't answer, focusing instead on the red-haired boy bleeding on the floor, gasping for breath, pathetically trying to reach for Samara with a trembling hand, not aware that the girl had probably lost consciousness while the colonel was beating her.

God, Rachel hoped she wasn't conscious. Even for Samara this was too much.

But the her surprise and horror, she saw the young girl struggle until she was able to take Pink's hand in her own and squeeze it. Even when the young man stopped moving and breathing, Samara didn't let go of his hand, clinging to it with all her strength, as if her life depended on it. And in some way, it probably did.

Suddenly, it all clicked together in Rachel's head.

Even when she had first seen those two together, she had felt something had been... wrong. She had known that, somehow, Samara was different when she was with him. For heaven's sake, she had been _smiling_ until she saw Rachel. The Samara she had known before would never have smiled, probably didn't even know the word existed. And everything after that, the way she had clung to the boy like a frightened child might have done, the way he had protected her, even though he had known who and what she was, the fact that Samara had probably tried to protect him in return in that restaurant, and then how she had stayed with him while he was asleep, ready to stay by his side for ever probably, and how she wouldn't let go of him even now that he was dead...

"Oh God. What have I done?"

"You have done the right thing," answered the colonel. "And you will keep doing it by letting me destroy that... thing. That little monster will never again hurt anyone."

But she hadn't hurt anyone since she had met the boy, not until Rachel and Mr. Jackson had made them fugitives running for their lived.

"We can't kill her. We mustn't. There's hope for her! She can change, she's proven it! Look at her, just look at her! She isn't the same, she... she's good now, better, just look at her!"

To prove her point, Rachel sat down next to Samara and, slowly, gently, caressed her cheek. The girl was startled, and tried to move away, looking at her like a hare might look at a hunter.

"It's okay Samara," Rachel whispered. "It's going to be fine. I'm so sorry about your friend, I'm so sorry about everything. But I'm going to make everything better. Because you've changed, haven't you? You've become such a good girl, I can see that..."

For a few seconds, the young girl seemed surprised, almost scared, but she finally relaxed and allowed herself to just enjoy the journalist's caress.

"I'm so sorry Samara. I'm sorry you've lost him. I won't replace him but I'll find people to take care of you if you want, people who'll understand, and if we don't find anyone I'll just... care for you myself, I will, and..."

She stopped abruptly when she was struck violently by (la crosse) of a gun, and once more pushed away from the two bodies on the floor.

"You have made your choice, miss Keller" said the colonel in a cold, flat voice. "I hope you are reading to face the consequences."

He raised his hand again. And again. And again.

And then, the nightmare began. _Samara's_ nightmare.

It had been years since the pictures had been so terrible. Years since they had been so horrific in her mind that even she couldn't stand them. It made her sick, that impression of everlasting suffering, these smells of rotting flesh, the sight of worms and flies and crawling horrors, those sounds of screaming and water. It was terrible, so painful, making her want to tear away her eyes and ears, to reach into her head and throw away her brain just to make it all stop.

It was the worse her brain had ever created to torture her and those around her, and yet it was still less awful than the fact that _Pink was dead_.

And if she had to suffer, the world would suffer with her.

Rachel's proposition had almost appeased her. Live with her? Yes, a thousand times yes, even now, even with everything Rachel had done, Samara would have been glad to be with her, even if she wasn't as great as Pink.

But the man wouldn't allow it.

No one would allow it.

And she wouldn't allow _them_ to live.

They would all pay.

They would all _die_.

But she was too angry. Too sad. Not enough in control. In other circumstances, it would have been too easy, to make that man, that horrible, _terrible_ man use his own gun against himself. And he did raise his gun, hesitated for a few moments, torn between his will and Samara's. But she was having doubts. Pink had said not to kill. And he was dead, yes, but he had wanted her to be a good girl, and she had been, she had been so good even Rachel had seen it. Even if that man was the worst person she had ever met, she wasn't sure she should kill him.

She hesitated for half a second maybe, but it was too long.

She lost was little control she had over colonel Jackson.

He pointed the gun at her, and shot twice, hitting her chest both times. Samara cried weakly, because of the pain obviously, but also, mostly, because it was just so awfully _unfair_ that she had to die again.

She vaguely felt her body leaving to cold floor when the colonel lifted her until they were face to face.

"You lost, little monster" he said. "You lost and I win. You took my son. I took that idiot who dared to care for you, and I'll soon enough take that foolish journalist. You're going to die, for good this time, and I'm going to live. How does it feel? Are you going to beg? Did people beg you when you came for them? Did it ever move you, little freak?"

"Not a freak," Samara mumbled, her head feeling empty. "Princess. Pink say 'm a princess. Not _begging_."

"Too proud for that, little _freak_? How about I shoot again, somewhere that won't kill you faster, somewhere it'll just hurt, until you learn to _beg_?"

For a brief moment, Samara wondered if she had looked like that to all the people she had killed. She hoped not. She had never tried to make things... personal. It was a good thing, wasn't it? She had never wanted to humiliate them at least. She wanted to say that. She also wanted to say she wouldn't beg because she didn't see the point: he would kill her anyway. They might as well get that done as quickly as possible and move on. She wouldn't last much longer anyway. She was feeling so _weak_.

Somewhere behind them, Samara vaguely heard Rachel talking to the colonel. _She_ was begging. Asking him to let them live. Foolishly thinking there was still some hope. Promising he'd never hear of them again, that Rachel would make sure Samara would never hurt anyone again. All the journalist earned from this was a nasty kick in the stomach that made her vision go white from pain, and a new blow to her head that had her fall down to the ground.

She struggled to remain conscious, trying to focus on anything. She feared that if she closed her eyes she might never open them again, and so she look desperatly around her, until...

until her eyes met Pink's.

Her first thought was that he had strangely big eyes, not exactly pretty, but interesting.

Her second thought was that she had thought he was facing the other way last time she had seen him.

Her third thought was that she knew, _knew_ Pink had been dead just a few moments ago.

Her third thought was that she had to be hallucinating, because he was now moving, slowly standing up, walking toward the colonel. Putting his hands around the man's neck, and then, suddenly, without warning, twisting it violently. Something went snap. The colonel's body collapsed to the ground, but Pink somehow managed to catch Samara in her fall.

Her fifth thought was that she was definitely losing consciousness now. And the last thing she saw was Samara in Pink's arms, smiling at her.

* * *

Rachel woke up hours later, in a hospital room.

Alive.

Alone.

Later, people told her that she had been found next to colonel Jackson's dead body after an anonymous call had warned the hospital. They had found a lot of blood around them, most of it belonging to a patient of the hospital who had now disappeared. Witnesses believed to have seen the young man leave with a little girl, but even that wasn't certain. Considering how much blood he had lost, it seemed quite impossible that he could have gone anywhere. And yet, his body _had_ disappeared.

A mystery.

A few weeks later, after finally coming home (no charged were pressed against her. The anonymous caller had also claimed the colonel's death as his own, and there were evidences proving that Rachel was, on the whole, quite innocent) the journalist received a postcard from a place with a ridiculous name that was apparently famous for having the biggest pumpkin in the world. There were no names on it, just a big "thank you" in a childish handwriting.

She had smiled.

Dead or alive, they were safe.

* * *

_And... that's it. Thank you for your patience. I know I've been really awful with updating this. And there are many mistakes and probably plot holes everywhere. I don't really care. I just wanted to... make things better for Samara._

_Yep._

_Thanks for reading._


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